"Where?"
"To the Pacific Railroad."
He laughs grimly, and taking her to the window, cries: "This is a fine country to get out of!" Then he points over the sage brush and explains: "To the west is the Tintic Valley—thirty miles of alkali; but, beyond it, hills and one spring; then one hundred miles of desert, burning sand, and no water that man or beast can drink. Could we travel over that and live to reach the railroad? To the south,—Mormon settlements on the Servier River—Beaver, Parowan, the very hot-bed of Mormonism. Beyond them, Lee's Ferry on the Colorado!" And he shudders as he mentions the name of John D. Lee, not as yet sacrificed by the Mormon Church, for whom he murdered one hundred and thirty-three men, women, and children, at Mountain Meadows. "After Lee's Ferry, deserts and the Apache. To the east, Mormon settlements—Santaquin, Nephi, Juab, Manti—and, back of them, the impassable desert-plateaus and mountain ranges of the Rockies—mighty rivers that foam through gorges thousands of feet deep—and Ute Indians!"
"But to the north, father—the way I came—hardly one hundred miles!"
"That is our only path," mutters the man. Then he says, doubtingly: "But still all Mormon. We may never reach Salt Lake City."
"Who'll stop us?"
"That will never be known! But it is our one chance, and, once in Salt Lake, I think they dare not touch me. I'll make arrangements to take you up to-morrow. Come with me now to the hotel."
"Why cannot I stay with you?"
"Humph!" he laughs. "The hotel is better than this. There is only one bed here. Besides, some one would say," he chuckles rather grimly, "Bishop Tranyon has taken another wife! And I do not wish it to be generally known you are my daughter. Then, too, I have a telegram to send."
"Oh, yes!" cries the girl, "for Captain Lawrence!" And she accompanies him down the trail that winds to the road coming from Silver City to Eureka.